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Trent exhales in relief as he makes his way towards his and Ted’s flat. It’s been a long, tiring day—a day filled with dealing with his ex-in-laws, ex-husband, an own father—as they attempted a day out together with Joanie. Although he and his ex-husband split on amicably, it did not eliminate the tension between the two of them, built from their previous relationship. On top of that, Trent knew his parents despised him. They judged him based on his “unstable” profession, his manner of speaking, his background, and even the way he was raising his daughter. The day was mostly filled with them making jabs at him, while his ex-husband tried defending him. He’s gone pretty much immune to it by now, but sometimes, it does hurt a bit.
(His own father tagged along too, at the request of Joanie. At least his own father was kind to Matthew.)
Their day out ended with Joanie going back with Matthew, as was their agreement. Trent was thankful that Joanie seemed unaffected by the tension between him and Matthew—it was rare for her to spend a day like this together with them, and Trent prayed she enjoyed it thoroughly.
With a kiss to a forehead, he left, and started on a journey home—and finally, he arrives at the flat, digging his key into the door and stepping inside. Once in, he’s greeted by a myriad of scents—sweetness, tartness. He takes a deeper sniff and realizes that Ted must be baking. Trent hangs his coat on their coat rack and takes off his shoes, creeping into the kitchen with his socks on. WWhen he arrives at the kitchen, he observes that Ted wasn’t just baking—he was baking.
All around their island and table were various baked goods; pies, biscuits, cakes, muffins, fairy cakes—probably every baked good you could ever think of. When he looks up at Ted, he’s facing the sink, washing his utensils. Trent could see something else baking in the oven and good God—what in the hell were all these for?
However, looking at Ted from a distance again, he notices a pair of black headphones perched upon his head. Usually, when Ted bakes—he turns on the radio or sets up his speaker, and as Trent remembers Ted telling him, “as my dad used to.” Upon closer inspection of Ted, he’s forgone is usual shirt and crewneck combination for a hoodie that Trent could notice a kilometers away (his Wichita State Shockers one). And there’s a certain hunch to Ted’s shoulders, a tension that Trent can sense, even if it wasn’t touching him. It’s a sense that Trent’s developed over the years of being with Ted like this. Trent feels his own tiredness and residue from his day melt away, in favor of helping Ted. He wanders over to his partner, inching close to him but not exactly touching him.
Trent leans on the counter, and says, “Ted, darling.” He hopes it’s loud enough to penetrate the seal of his headphones—they were noise cancelling, after all. After a few attempts (Trent suspects it’s not just the headphones blocking him out; Ted seemed to be dazed over, too), he finally gets Ted’s attention. Ted turns to look at him, and Trent gets a good look of his face.
He looks tired—his forehead wrinkly and eyes glazed over. Nonetheless, a small smile is plastered on his face. Trent watches as Ted dries his hands, and winces, before taking off his headphones and letting them rest around his neck. “May I hold you?” Trent asks, cautiously. When Ted gets likes this, Trent’s learned that he needs to ask for permission to touch him. Ted nods wordlessly, and Trent goes over to him in an instant, gently wrapping his arms around him. Trent squeezes him, a gentle pressure enveloping Ted’s body. Ted sighs against his embrace.
“Thanks, honey,” he says after a few moments, his voice devoid of his chipper tone. Trent pulls away to look at his face, and he places a hand on his cheek. “What happened, Ted?” he asks him. Ted starts to look away; Trent lets him. He waits patiently for Ted to respond, and he feels Ted’s hands rest upon his waist, before he sighs.
“Just a bad day, sensory wise and all that. After you left, it was too quiet—then it was too loud, even though there technically wasn’t anything super loud goin’ on. So, I had to put these on,” he motions at the headphones, “Then my hands had nothin’ to do; you know how I get. I just needed to feel somethin’, and now here I am—with about enough baked goods to feed the team for a couple months,” Ted laughs nervously, and Trent leans over to kiss his forehead. Ted has sensory issues—mostly with touch or sensations, but sometimes with sound. Though it seems a bit contradictory—having issues with sound yet spending a good portion of your days in noisy stadiums—Trent knows Ted's learned to adapt to it, even from the beginning. Most days, he's able to tolerate it. On other days, he has tiny earplugs that he places in his ears—small enough for barely anyone to notice. Trent noticed—he also noticed the way Coach Beard carried an extra pair, just in case.
“Do you want to talk about it more, Ted?”
“No, not really, I mean,” Ted pauses to tuck his hair behind his ear, “nothin’ much to talk about. My brain was just—not cooperatin’ with me today.” Trent hums in thought, holding Ted closer to him, “Do you know what caused it, today?”
Ted shrugs, “I honestly have no clue. I think it might be somethin’ new, aw—hey.” Ted pauses to appreciate the rhyme, and Trent watches with fondness. It was only Ted who did things like this, and it was one of the reasons why Trent fell so hard and fast for him. “But I think I’m going to talk to the Doc about this on Wednesday.”
“It seems like your best choice, Ted. And my ears are always open, alright? On that, you can always call or text when you feel this way,” he reassures Ted, runs his hands gently over his hip. Ted looks down, “I know, I know, and I should’ve. It’s that burden thing again. Sometimes, I feel like I can never run away from it. I guess I’m also used to talkin’ about this stuff with Beard, ‘cause he really gets it. Or Roy. Roy’s a tougher cookie, though,” Trent nods, “I know we’ve been together for a while, Trent, and we’ve talked about this stuff before—I really appreciate ‘ya—it’s just somethin’ I need to work harder at shakin’ off. Keeping things to myself, I mean.”
If anything, Ted’s done the opposite here. It warms Trent in an inexplicable matter—when Ted allows himself to open up and be vulnerable with him. It’s here, where Ted places himself in Trent’s palms and trusts Trent to keep him safe—and not trickle away like water. And Trent does the former, at least tries his best, every single time. He understands how difficult this is for Ted, even after all this time together. It’s a victory, and one Trent will cherish and bring up to Ted whenever things get overwhelming again.
“Thank you for telling me. I’ll help you Ted, always. There’s no space nor universe where that won’t happen,” Trent tells him firmly, holding Ted’s wrists in a gentle grip. They look at each other for a few moments, then Ted nods his head, leaning forward to bury his head in the crook of Trent’s neck again. Ted feels warm and smells like home, of honey and sugar and vanilla. “And I know how dealing with your in-laws is like.”
Trent can feel Ted smile into his neck, and Trent hears his voice return to a more chipper tone. Trent sighs as Ted chuckles quietly, “How was it?”
“You said it yourself,” Trent hums, pulling away to raise his eyebrows at him. He absentmindedly reaches over the pat away some left over flour in Ted’s hair. “You wanna talk about it, honey?”
“Not particularly. We can save it for another day,” Trent isn’t very eager to bring up his ex in-laws again today. All the while, Trent finally leans over to give Ted a kiss, soft and chaste and quick. He notices Ted’s tired look, and he suspects he’s mirroring the same look. “I’ll help you clean up the rest of it, I’ll change, then we can have a cuddle on the couch. Does that sound alright?”
Ted nods, smiling, “Sounds like a plan, Tin Man.”
—
“Okay—blanket or me?”
“Aw, c’mon now, honey, what kinda question is that? Always you,” Ted motions for Trent, and Trent drops the weighted blanket down at the end of the couch with a ‘plop’. And if Trent’s stomach swirled a bit, no one needed to know.
Trent climbs over Ted, clad in his pajamas. After a few moments of positioning, the two of them find a comfortable position on the couch—Trent half on top of Ted, applying the pressure Ted needed and giving Trent the warmth he craved for as well. It was how they normally slept anyway—Ted could only sleep well if he had a certain pressure on him. (Usually it was a weighted blanket, but Trent remembers Ted telling him that he used to sleep on the floor back then.)
They turned the lights of their living room down low, so a warm light engulfed them both. Trent looks up to see Ted, his eyes closed and his arm curled around Trent. He looks more at peace than he was before, and Trent’s grateful that Ted was able to calm down. “I’m glad it was just baking,” Trent voices it aloud, running his hand over Ted’s left forearm protectively. He feels Ted run his other hand through his hair, soft and gentle, carding through the strands. “I’d take a thousand pies over what could’ve happened.”
He hugs Ted tighter, holding him close. Ted very well could’ve scratched up his arms, it was one his more negative stims after being overwhelmed by his senses. It hasn’t happened in a while, but Trent had to tend to him like that once. Even though the scratches weren’t enough to scar—some of them bled—and it truly hurt Trent to see Ted in pain like that. He’s very glad that Ted was able to heed it off with something he enjoyed doing. “You could say that again, honey. But I was snappin’ up a storm in there, bakin’.”
They hum in agreement, and they start chatting quietly, filling the silence with noise. Not too loud, but just enough for the two of them to hear. He tells Ted of Joanie’s adventures today—her stepping in puddles, feeding the ducks in the park, and her joy at the aquarium. Ted brightens up at his stories of Joanie, it was another thing he loved tenderly about Ted—the way he showed his love to other people. Especially Joanie, who was the most important person in his life. Likewise, Trent listened to Ted talk about Ted the things he baked today—he tried out a new cake recipe, put cream cheese in his brownies for a change, and they were dangerously low on flour. He sighs into Ted’s body; he loves it when Ted goes on about his interests.
“Now, I’m thinkin’. We need to talk about pastry distribution. Who gets what, y’know? Geez, Trent, how’d I bake so much?” Ted exclaims, shaking the couch a bit. Trent doesn’t move from his spot on Ted’s chest, “Something about your autism,” he says dryly, matter-of-factly. He closes his eyes, and prepares for the quiet barrage of Ted’s words. “Right, right,” Ted nods, rubbing his mustache with his other hand. HIs accent is much thicker now, smooth and silky like honey—just the way Trent enjoys listening to. He looks up at Ted, who seemed to be pondering his words on his own.
“You were saying something about pastry distribution?” Trent eggs Ted on. A light seems to switch off in his brain, and the gates of Ted’s word-dam broke. Trent listens on (he was a a journalist—of course he knew how to listen; especially to Ted.), and applies more pressure to Ted’s front. Ted talks until he can’t anymore, and Trent hears him end it off with words of appreciation, before his arms curl tighter around Trent.
He’s thankful Ted is with him at the end of the day; Trent loves him so.